Page 9 of Delta

"Just a…" my eyes cross, and I have to hold back—I'm not about to blow my load while on the phone with this fuck. "I'll ring you back in a minute."

I thumb the end call button and toss the phone back onto the table.

I hunch over as I near my climax, and then bolt upright, holding her head in place. "Hold still, now."

She holds onto my ass cheeks as I fuck her face. Now, I may be a mean, selfish, insensitive bastard, but I'm not a complete prick. I'm careful. Gagging sounds make me gag. They put me off my game, you might say. So I'm not the sort of bloke who likes to deep-throat until they're yakking on the floor—not unless I know they can take it that way. Nah, mate. I'm good on that.

"Ah, fuck, fuck, that's good. I'm—oh, yeah. Ready, love? Oh, fuck. Fuck. Take it all, now."

"Mmmm!" she hums, eager and ready. Her gulp manages to sound surprised, but she's game and takes it all.

When I'm done, she sinks back on her heels, wiping at her mouth. Grinning up at me, she rises to her feet. "You weren't kidding about eight inches, were you?"

I brush my thumb down the corner of her mouth, smirking at her. "I never joke about money, killing, and sex, sweetheart. Go lay on the bed and touch yourself. I've just got to call my mate back and then I'll eat you out till you see your ancestors."

She traipses naked out of the room, her lovely bits jiggling. I can see her on the bed from here—she flops onto her back and starts flicking her bean while I watch. It’s a lovely show, I must say.

I ring him back—he answers on the first burble. "Don't ever hang up on me again, Rush."

"Fuck off, cunt. Where, when, and what's my take?" I pause for effect. "And the number had better start with a 2 and have at least five zeroes, you feel me?"

"Just head to Berlin and stand by. I expect them to fuck it up somehow, but I’ve no way of knowing where or how. I'll just have to update you as I can. As for when, you ought to know better, Rush. Yesterday would be good, last week would be better. As for your take? I've got a very specific number in mind."

"I'll bet you have," I mutter, half to myself. "And that would be what, then?"

"Two-hundred and seventy-six thousand, four-hundred and eighty-eight Euros. And…sixty-six cents."

I go stone still. If I didn't know better, I’d think my heart had stopped. "How the fuck do you know that number?”

His laugh is unkind and amused. "Have you forgotten who I am?"

Yeah, a bit, I guess. I don't say that though. It’s not surprising that he knows that, but it’s very, very bad for me. It means I have to do this job, no matter how distasteful I may find it.

"How many?" I ask, after a moment of thought.

"Two. Supposed to be one, but they managed to acquire an extra, somehow. Which is where you come in."

"I don't fuck with your human trafficking bullshit, you evil cunt. You know that."

"Then you'll find the money some other way."

Fuck.

FUCK!

I fight the urge to crush the mobile in my fist. "I really hate you."

"The list of people who hate me is very long and you're at the bottom of it, so pardon me if I'm not overly bothered."

"Fuck you. Make it an even three hundred-K, and I never do this shit for you again."

"Coercion, intimidation, assault, and murder, you have no problem with. But this you do?"

"I'll coerce, intimidate, assault, and murder other violent cunts who do bad shit. Innocent girls being turned into fucking sex slaves for you and your vile pile of depraved sickos? Yeah, nah. Fuck that very much, fuck you even more, you filthy fuckin’ cunt.”

"Must you use that word so much? It is supremely distasteful."

"You work with the Yanks too much. By which I mean fuck off, cunt."